


Somewhere in Between

by clarkoholic



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkoholic/pseuds/clarkoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story follows Clark's life after he suffers a great loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lyrics to _Somewhere in Between_ \- the song from which the title comes__

_By Lifehouse   
No Name Face album_

_I can't be losing sleep  
Over this, no I can't  
And now I cannot stop pacing   
Give me a few hours   
I'll have this all sorted out   
If my mind would just stop racing_

_Cause I cannot stand still   
I can't be this unsturdy   
This cannot be happening_

_This is over my head   
But underneath my feet   
Cause by tomorrow morning   
I'll have this thing beat   
And everything will be back to the way that it was   
I wish that it was just that easy_

_Cause I'm waiting for tonight   
And then waiting for tomorrow  
And I'm somewhere in between   
What is real and just a dream   
What is real and just a dream   
What is real and just a dream_

_Would you catch me if I fall out of what I fell in   
Don't be surprised if I collapse   
Down at your feet again   
I don't want to run away from this   
I know that I just don't need this_

_Cause I cannot stand still   
I can't be this unsturdy   
This cannot be happening, yeah_

_Cause I'm waiting for tonight   
And then waiting for tomorrow   
And I'm somewhere in between   
What is real and just a dream   
What is real and just a dream   
What is real and just a dream   
What is real and just a dream_

_***_

_Mr. Oloskey, the guidance counselor, stood from his desk as the young man entered the room, "Clark, please have a seat."_

_Clark knew something serious was going on by the number of adults in the room. He searched their faces for answers and wondered momentarily if he was in trouble by their avoidance to meet his eyes. But their solemn expressions told him this was something more._

_No one spoke as Principal Kawn stepped around him and stood next to Pete's mom, Abby Ross. The silence chilled the air as Clark walked to the chair and sat._

_"What's going on?" He asked._

_Mrs. Ross and Mr. Oloskey exchanged glances then she stepped forward. "Clark, there's something we need to tell you." Clark's brow knitted in worry. She hesitated, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes briefly, as she searched for the words that would change his life. "Your parents were involved in a car accident this afternoon."_

_Clark's heart began to pound, her voice echoing in his ears._

_"A truck crossed the medium and struck theirs."_

_The words didn't make sense to him. That couldn't have happened. Not to his parents. "Are they okay?" he breathed, knowing what her answer would be._

_Her eyes began to water and she choked on her words, "No, sweetheart. I'm sorry."_

_Clark bent over, putting his head in his hands, breathing deeply. His heart hammered against his chest as tears immediately burned his eyes. The lump in his throat and knots in his stomach grew, sickening him. He couldn't breathe properly. His mind raced with disbelief, there was no way _his_ parents could be gone, but the tightness in his chest told him it was true. Sweat broke under his shirt; the room was suddenly too hot._

Mrs. Ross and Mr. Oloskey continued to speak but their voices only jumbled into an array of unfocused fuzz. His gut turned again, the nausea building.

He was choking on grief.

Mrs. Ross knelt at his side and put her hand on his cheek, "Clark, honey?"

_Honey._

A vision of his mother putting her hand on his cheek in the same manner, calling him 'honey' flashed in his mind. The way she lightly patted his cheeks. The way she smiled before pulling him into her bigger than life hugs. The way her eyes lit with wisdom and love she held for him.

It was all gone.

Oh God… they're gone.

His stomach lurched and he mumbled, "I have to go to the bathroom," before running from the room.

He stopped as he reached a stall and dropped to his knees, heaving for a moment before his lunch released in the bowl. He choked for air, gagging as his stomach emptied, unable to catch his breath. After a moment, his stomach settled and while he knew he was breathing, he felt like he couldn't. The refreshing feeling of a deep breath wasn't there. Only stark thin air that burned his lungs.

Falling back onto his butt, he put his head in his hands and began to cry. His cries turned to sobs, echoing in the small bathroom. He hugged his knees to his chest, his hands pulling uselessly at his hair. Unbearable pain built inside him, trying to break free without success. It tangled in his chest, choking his heart. His body shook from the uncontainable emotion.

He still couldn't believe it. Jonathan and Martha Kent taken from the world -from him- by a car accident? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Couldn't be right. Shouldn't be. He should have been there. The remnants of rational thought he had told him there was no way he could have been there. That there wasn't anything he could have done to save them.

It hurt, it all hurt too much.

He didn't hear the bathroom door open but he heard Chloe, "Clark?" she called. "I saw Mrs. Ross in the hallway…" she halted as she opened the stall door and found him broken on the floor. He looked briefly at her, his face red and wet, his soul bare. She hated to see him so wrecked and vulnerable, wanting desperately to ease some of his pain. Her seemingly unbreakable best friend weakly wrapping his arms around her as she knelt beside him broke a piece of her heart. She held him as he cried into her shoulder and shook with grief, feeling only a degree of his immeasurable pain. She felt useless and scared. She didn't know what to say or do, so she closed her eyes and squeezed him tighter, her own tears falling.

They embraced until his tears ceased and shaking eased. They pulled apart and stood, wiping their eyes and sniffing. There were no words spoken except for the silent 'thank you' he gave her as he took her hand. She stepped forward, closing the space between them and embraced him again, silently saying back that she'd always be there for him.

-

Mrs. Ross was waiting outside the bathroom with his backpack in hand, when he and Chloe finally emerged. She gave him a hug and asked, "Are you ready to go?" as she pulled back to look at him. Clark didn't meet her eyes but nodded in agreement. She gave Chloe a faint smile and nod then put her hand on Clark's back to lead him out of the school.

Chloe stayed at his side, holding his hand.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty halls but Clark only heard the echo of his father's robust laugh and thought about how he'd never hear it again. They'd never again work on the tractor together or fix a broken fence. He'd never walk into the kitchen and find his mother baking. Never get to see her playful smile when she smacked at his hand for stealing cookies. Never see them again.

Ever.

Having amazing abilities but forced to keep them secret had left him feeling lonely his entire life. His parents always did their best to make him feel like he belonged in the world, with them. Their love for him filled the lonely hole his burdens carved, but now suddenly they were gone and the gaping hole was back. He felt the irreparable shift his life was beginning to take and was helpless to stop it. The strong foundation they built for him was cracked and he felt that at any moment it would all come crumbling down.

 

\---

Clark sat alone on the park bench under a sheltering tree, the evening breeze rustling his hair and the leaves above. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. He sighed, running his hands over his face, his mind thinking over the stages of grief he read about in an article Mrs. Ross gave him. About how the suffocating pain he first felt would eventually fade. That he would be able to move on and live his life without them. Yes, it was true that the initial shock of his parent's deaths had worn off, but it was replaced with a numb feeling. He felt like he was living a surreal hollow dream that wouldn't end.

Chloe had been with him almost every moment since they left school that horrible day. He was grateful for her; he didn't know what he would have done had she not been with him during everything. Their roles had switched. She was now his support and protector. She seemed to know what to say at just the right time. She always had that ability, he realized. She was at his side throughout the funeral and memorial dinner, fielding questions and shoeing visitors away when she could tell he'd had enough.

Almost the entire town attended the funeral to pay their respects. Handshake after handshake and hug after hug, they gave their condolences. Offering to be there, help out, or do whatever they could for him. He forced a small smile of gratitude for all of them. He knew they truly cared and it warmed him slightly to know his parents were loved by so many but it didn't help. He still felt the aching void they once filled and it seemed to be growing steadily.

"Ah hem."

"Oh, hi Mr. Clark. I didn't hear you," he said politely, sitting up straight.

"Clark, please, call me Grandpa," he sat on the bench.

Clark had briefly spoken with his grandfather that morning; it was the first time they had actually met. Clark knew there was animosity between his father and grandfather and that was why they never knew each other. To Clark, he seemed like a nice enough man, he surely knew how to present himself. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit with his silver-white hair swept back. His presence was powerful and confident, yet intimidating, Clark thought admittedly.

They sat together in unfamiliar silence until Harold cleared his throat and spoke; his voice was deep and rough from years of cigars. "Judge Ross tells me you are a freshman."

"Yes, sir," Clark kept his gaze down. He didn't like looking anyone in their eyes anymore. All he saw was grief and pity, and he couldn't take more of either.

"Do you like high school?"

"It's okay."

"What about sports? You look like a football player to me."

"I wanted to play but Dad wouldn't let me."

"I see. So Clark, tell me about yourself."

"There's not much to tell," Clark said quietly.

Harold sighed inwardly, wishing he knew how to communicate with a teenager, especially a lonely, grieving teenager. Clark was his only remaining family and he wanted to make a connection. He spent the last sixteen years letting his pride rule him and regretted never forming a relationship with the young man before him.

It pained him to know the death of his daughter and the man he never gave a chance would be the catalyst for he and Clark's relationship. He had years of catching up to do and knew it would be difficult. He only hoped that Clark wouldn't hold his mistakes against him and give him the chance he wasn't sure he deserved. He stood to leave, deciding to give Clark space, "Well, it's starting to get dark. I should be heading back to my hotel. I'll see you tomorrow then, Clark. Good night."

"Good night."

Harold walked away, leaving him alone again. Clark looked into the sky; he hadn't realized how much time had gone by since he first sat there. He'd been lost in his thoughts, not only for these few hours but for the last few days. So many questions plagued him. About what his life would be like now, where he would live, what would happen to his parent's things, his things, the farm, and even the livestock.

-

The decision had been made that Clark was to live with his Grandfather. His parent's will was drawn up shortly after his adoption but it didn't specify who would take custody of Clark. Mrs. Ross told him she believed they weren't sure at the time and planned to add it eventually, but sadly they didn't. Clark knew what that meant; they weren't sure who they could trust with him, considering his abilities.

His Grandfather eagerly offered to take Clark in, saying that he should be with family. The Judge assigned to the case agreed that Clark would be in good hands with his Grandfather. She asked Clark if he objected, and he didn't. Sure he didn't know the man but the thought of living in foster homes or with complete strangers was too scary. His Grandpa raised his Mom well and that was enough for Clark.

He knew there had been bad blood between his parents and Grandfather and began to wonder why his parents never involved him in their lives. He seemed like a caring man who obviously wanted the best for Clark. Had he not been that way when his parents were alive? Clark supposed it was because his parents were protecting his secret. Maybe his Grandfather couldn't be trusted.

Since Clark was now the only living soul who knew about his abilities, he decided it was best to keep it that way. He didn't know his Grandfather well enough to trust him with a secret like his. Harold didn't know about Smallville's Wall of Weirdness and a discovery like Clark could be dangerous in the hands of a high-powered attorney. It was best for him to keep a low profile and only use his abilities when necessary. Metropolis wasn't Smallville; he wouldn't be able to play the town hero. Not that he was much of a hero anyway; he couldn't even save his parents.

 

\---

Clark pulled the strap of his bag further onto his shoulder as they stepped off the elevator. The building was nicer than he expected, obviously built for wealthy tenants. For successful lawyers and businessmen like his Grandfather. It seemed strange that he never knew his Grandfather was so wealthy.

Inside the apartment, Harold led Clark to his new bedroom, "This is your room; probably a little stuffy for your tastes but you can change whatever you don't like."

Clark stepped into the large room, surveying it. Dark wood wainscoting ran halfway up the walls with a midnight blue paint taking the rest. Another doorway led to the closet and bathroom. Several boxes of his belongings, brought by movers earlier that day, were stacked against the wall. He set his bags beside the bed and put his hands in his pockets, breathing deeply.

"Clark, I know this will be a difficult change but I want you to feel at home here."

Clark nodded; he wished he could feel at home here too. Maybe with time.

His Grandfather sat on the bed and patted for Clark to join him, "I know you probably feel terribly uncomfortable." His expression showed his genuine care, "I'm sorry that I wasn't more apart of your life. I let my pride take over and my family suffered from it. It's the one mistake I truly regret." His voice hitched slightly, showing his sadness, but he quickly masked his pain. "But the past is the past and cannot be changed. Life does not stop, so neither should we."

He stood slowly, "I understand, however, that you are young and if you need to speak with anyone about…" he casually waved his hand, "I'll arrange an appointment with a top professional." Clark nodded in understanding but remained silent. His Grandfather walked to the door, "Settle in, dinner will be ready soon then I'll give the full tour."

"Okay," Clark stood and spoke politely, "Thanks."

He smiled, "You're welcome."

Clark took a deep breath as the door closed and looked over the room again. It was 'stuffy', definitely decorated as a guest room. It was nice, beautiful actually, but not home. He walked to the window and peered down the fourteen stories, then quickly stepped back as the vertigo hit him, making the streets twist. He closed the curtains, deciding to keep them closed until living unnaturally high wasn't so nauseating.

Unpacking his bags took little time. He neatly placed his clothes in the drawers and hung his shirts in the unnecessarily large closet. He moved onto the boxes, wanting to finish as much as possible before dinner, but he was met with a bright picture of him as a child, in his parents loving arms. His stomach twisted. The box was filled with albums and picture frames, the memories of what he lost. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing back tears that threatened to escape. He was strong and wasn't going to lose it every time he saw their picture.

Or so he told himself.

Placing the picture on the nightstand, he decided the boxes could wait until later. He wasn't ready to be strong just yet.

-

The next morning Clark and his Grandfather toured the cities main tourist attractions and the secret gems only long time residents knew about. One of Harold's clients managed the Metropolis Sharks and gave them a private tour of the stadium. They ate lunch at a small French bistro and Clark decided the food was an acquired taste that he had yet to obtain. The city was appealing, for the most part. However, the noise became an annoyance. Whoever said New York was the city that never slept had obviously never been to Metropolis. Some afternoons he would speed outside of the city and just, listening to the quiet.

They hadn't spoken about his parents since that first night. Occasionally, his Grandfather would mention Martha, or tell a short story of her childhood but those instances were few and far between. Clark didn't mind so much that they ignored discussing them or their deaths. The wound was still too fresh and any reminder of them was like adding salt. He missed everything about them terribly but refused to let himself wallow. Sometimes at night, alone in his room he allowed himself to cry, curse God, pray that it was all a nightmare but once morning came, his game face was back on and he repeated his new mantra


	2. Chapter 2

Clark walked Chloe and Pete to their hotel across town from his apartment. Promises were made to keep closer contact and to visit often; they hugged and Chloe cried, and that was that. Chloe and Pete stepped into the elevator and Clark let out a heavy breath as he left the building.

He decided to walk home instead of taking the Metro subway system; the early, early morning air was refreshing and it had been a long time since he'd been up before dawn. There was no need to get up that early now. No cows or chickens to feed, no hay to bail, and no one to enjoy the sunrise with. He wondered if the farm's new owners got up to enjoy it from his loft. They weren't farmers; the land had been sold to neighboring farms and only a small amount of property was sold with the house and barn, to a family with three children and lots of animals. Clark hoped they appreciated the beautiful Smallville sunrise because he wasn't sure he ever did until now. He missed it.

He was glad Pete's Mom was able to find the right buyers. A few weeks after they moved in, he sped over and watched from afar as their kids played in the yard. He smiled, knowing the house he grew up in, the house his parents loved so much, would be taken care of.

The family had already put their touches to the house and property. The flowerpots were different, there was a small swing set in the yard, and the old carved wood 'Kent Farm' sign over the drive had been replaced with a nicely painted piece that read simply, 'The Boyers'.

Clark had the old sign hanging above the door to his bathroom.

A loud crash and the screeching sound of twisting metal grabbed his attention away from his memories. Without a second thought, he sped to the sound but came to a halting stop when he saw the two cars intertwined in the intersection.

He felt like he was instantly on Route 8 again, looking at the skid marks and burnt section of grass, imagining his parent's accident. He could almost smell the leaking gasoline and hear the shattering glass. His heart raced.

A woman cried for help. "Mom," he whispered and ran to her, "Mom!"

He pulled the car door off and dropped it, reached inside to snap her seatbelt and he broke the steering wheel to push it away from her. He gently put his arms around her and pulled her from the seat, and then he carefully carried her to the sidewalk and set her down.

"Shh, you're okay," he tried to calm her. She was dazed but a quick scan told him she didn't have any serious injuries or breaks.

"I… they came out of nowhere. I didn't see," her voice shook and she started to cry.

"It's okay Mom, you're alright. I'm here." She looked up at him with brown eyes and tanned skin, a stark contrast to his Moms vibrant blue eyes and delicate pale skin. He reeled back, gasping loudly. "I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

She just smiled at him through her tears, unaware that he misspoke. "Thank you," she said.

"I have to go… I'll call 911." Clark got up as quick as he could without super speed and walked away, on shaking legs. He called for an ambulance before he reached the corner and took off at full speed after he rounded it.

He didn't stop until he reached his apartment door, having used the stairs to avoid anyone who might be up at this hour. He unlocked the door and went straight to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. His heart was still pounding. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. He used his abilities. In front of someone!

He paced in his room, his breath quickening as he started to panic. He would be found out. They'd know he was different; a mutant meteor freak. He sat on his bed and forced himself to calm down. He took slow, deep breaths and thought. He could fix this; he could make up a story about a freak adrenaline rush or something. They'd believe that. He was a fit, athletic guy; they'd believe he could break… a metal car door?

Damn. He was screwed.

He knew there wasn't anything he could do about it at that hour, so he would have to wait for the accident to be reported in the paper or on the news. Or wait until the nice doctor's in white coats came to take him away. Or maybe the woman was too disoriented to realize what he'd done. Or maybe she'd seen everything and was already spinning her story to the highest bidder. He hoped and prayed it was the former.

He looked at the picture of his parents on his nightstand and thought about how ridiculous it was that he actually believed the woman was his mother. Maybe Chloe was right, he really _did_ need to talk to someone. He didn't want to have another… hallucination? Whatever it was, he didn't want to experience it again. Ever.

Obviously, he imagined she was his mother because a huge part, no scratch that, _all of him_ wanted to be able to save them still. Everyday he lived without them was a reminder that he wasn't able to be there when it really mattered. What was the point of having these abilities if he couldn't help the people he loved most?

Deciding that he should try to talk to his Grandfather about the incident, Clark went to the kitchen, knowing it was early enough for his Grandfather to be up for work. Clark just hoped that he wouldn't think he was crazy, and that he'd be able to help.

His Grandpa was nowhere to be seen but there was a note, written in Karen's handwriting, on the kitchen counter.

_Clark,_

_I had to leave town last night on business._

_Will be home in a few days. Call Karen if you need anything._

_\- Grandpa_

Clark sighed, so much for talking about his problems. On his way back to his room, he came to the conclusion that it was probably better; his Grandfather shouldn't have to worry about his emotional state. He was probably still dealing with his own grief. Clark would just have to deal with it on his own, too.

He dug in his closet and pulled the afghan his mother always used when she got cold and his father's favorite pillow out. Lying down on his bed, he hugged the pillow to his chest and pulled the afghan over his shoulders.

He fell asleep, wrapped in their memories.

\--

For the next two weeks, Clark checked the newspapers and watched the news for any mention of a super human, freak boy but there was none. It was as though the accident never happened; there wasn't one report about it. He found it strange, but not strange enough to do something. He was just grateful and relieved he wasn't about to be shipped off to Belle Reve.

 

\---

Before he knew it, Christmas was all around him in decorations, trees, on the radio, and all Clark really wanted was to crawl in a hole and wait for it to be over. It was the first Christmas without his parents and his life had been in such upheaval since then, the last thing he wanted was to celebrate what should be his favorite holiday.

He decided, one dreadfully cold afternoon on his walk home from school, that from that day forward he would boycott Christmas and the entire jolliness of it. Since his tie was the only article of clothing he had control over for school, he chose black for the rest of the month. When his classmates asked why he chose such a dark color during "the most wonderful time of the year," he scowled and mumbled something about converting to Judaism. And when they asked what presents he wanted, he said coal.

It quickly became known that Clark Kent hated Christmas. The worst part, Clark realized, was that he didn't hate it at all. He loved it. Loved it more than a person should love a holiday. As a child, Christmas was the most magical and exciting thing he'd ever known. To him, Santa was the coolest and most mysterious person, especially when his Dad "pretended" to be him and dressed up in the suit. Making sugar cookies with his Mom with Christmas carols playing in the background was a tradition he waited for all year. He and his Dad always chopped down a fresh tree and they all decorated it the day after Thanksgiving each year, because he couldn't wait for Christmas to get there.

Now those felt like distant memories; he didn't want to forget them, but he wasn't ready to enjoy the holidays. Not this year.

One morning though, on his way to school he started whistling, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," and only realized it as a truck drove by, spraying his pants with a dirty brown slush. It was hard to make him smile after that.

The holiday break started four days before Christmas and he promised Jackson he'd wait for him after school because Jackson had some great surprise. Clark was leery because it had been Jackson's 'goal of the month' was to make him like Christmas again. After Clark's locker became the most festive in school and a large decorated tree had mysteriously appeared in his bedroom, he wasn't sure he wanted another surprise. But no matter how much he didn't want whatever was coming, he was still Clark Kent and Jackson was his friend and Clark Kent would do anything for his friends.

Jackson was all smiles, waiting by a town car when Clark walked outside.

"You aren't taking me to the North Pole, are you?"

"Ha!" Jackson laughed loudly, "No, but that is a great idea! Next year, maybe." He opened the door, "Get in, we don't have much time."

"How long is this going to take? My Grandfather's probably waiting for me." Clark complained.

"Oh yeah, the old man's waiting with a home cooked meal. Shut up and get in."

Clark smiled as he got in. Jackson and his Grandfather had a love/hate relationship. Harold called him "that stupid friend of yours" and referred to him as "hey you" in person. Jackson was still working the perfect name to call Harold so for the time being, he was known as "the old man".

They played X-Box for what seemed like hours (the town car was well-equipped) and when Clark finally looked out the window again, they were passing the Henderson's farm just outside of Smallville. A chill went down his spine, "What are we doing here?"

"You know how you're always saying that the snow in Metropolis isn't snow because it's mostly brown? Well, I wanted to see what 'real' snow looked like, so I thought we'd take a drive."

"To Smallville?"

"I hear it's quite nice."

Jackson smiled and Clark wasn't sure if he should be angry or happy. He had avoided going back to Smallville because he didn't want to deal with the emotions he knew he'd feel, but now as he drove down the main street he knew so well and saw faces he hadn't seen in months, he realized how stupid he'd been. Smallville was familiar and peaceful; it was his home.

"Since you probably know this place like the back of your hand, where is the best spot to watch the sunset during winter?"

Clark swallowed, "Well, my old loft is my favorite place but we can't go there, so probably Cooper's field. There's a windmill we might be able to climb."

"Why can't we go to your loft?"

"Because someone else owns it now."

"So we'll sneak in."

"We can't do that."

"Why not? If it's the best view…"

"It's breaking and entering."

"If my memory serves me correctly, your loft is in a barn. No one in their right mind would be in a barn at night when it's freezing. And it's not like we're breaking in."

Clark paused to think; he would love to go back to his loft to see what it was like now. "Fine… but you know this means you're not in _your_ right mind."

"Who ever said I was?" Jackson said, smiling.

The driver parked down the road and they trekked through the snow where Clark knew they wouldn't be seen. Being at the farm again brought back a lot of memories, mostly good, but there were also the few bad. Among them, being when he first returned home that dreadful day, then when he sorted through his parent's belongings, and finally when he said goodbye to his childhood home. The good, however, outweighed the bad by a landslide, so Clark decided to focus on those.

The barn felt empty; most of the farming equipment had been sold at auction. Only a few odds and ends were left in their places. There were kiddy bikes, toys, and the usual lawn mowers but not much else. Although his loft was stripped of his things and dust covered his old bookshelves, it still felt like home. It was as though he never left. He ran his hand over the railing, the dust plowing around his fingers, and wondered if the kids who lived here now would have as much fun or might find as much solace up there as he once did.

The wooden window creaked open and Clark turned to find Jackson looking at him, "Is this the spot?"

"Yeah," Clark said, walking over to him. They stood side by side, watching the amber sun above the trees as it began its descent. "My Dad and I used to watch the sunset from here."

Jackson nodded, "It's beautiful." An orange radiance glittered on the snow and lit the barn with a peaceful glow. "What was he like?"

Words like strong, honorable, intelligent, caring, and extraordinary came to mind, but to Clark, they weren't enough to sum up the man his father was to him. "He was…" Clark paused, still trying to find the right words. "…my hero."

\---

The town car stopped at the curve in front of Clark's building. Jackson walked with Clark through the lobby to the elevators. "Listen Clark, if I shouldn't have taken you to Smallville, I'm sorry. I guess I should have asked you first."

"No, it's alright. I probably would have said no if you asked." Clark pressed the button to call the elevator. "I'm glad you did; it was nice being back there." Jackson looked regretful, and a little nervous, so Clark added, "Thanks, it was a great gift."

Jackson smiled, "Merry Christmas, Clark."

"Merry Christmas," he said, smiling back.

"So, this holiday isn't so bad after all, is it?" Jackson prodded.

"Nah, it never was." The elevator bell dinged and the doors opened. Clark stepped inside, "I'll see you Saturday at John's party."

Jackson stepped forward and put his hand on the door to stop it from closing, "Wait, um…" he moved forward, as if to give Clark a hug.

To Clark's surprise, Jackson came forward and moved to kiss him. Clark reacted by jerking back, probably faster than he should have, and in shock, he began mumbling. "Woah, um, wow, I… um… that… hm, wow."

Jackson murmured an expletive and looked positively horrified. He stepped back quickly, holding his hands out, as if to say, 'I won't hurt you' and quietly said, "I'm sorry, that was stupid. I'll just go." The elevator doors closed and Clark heard Jackson bark, "Shit!"

\--

"Something better be on fire!" Chloe snapped into the phone.

"Hey Chloe, sorry to call so late," he said with a wince, remembering Chloe's rule about calling after two a.m.

"Clark? What is it? What's wrong?" he could almost hear her switch into 'protector' mode.

Since he stepped off the elevator and the shock wore off, it was all he could think about. After hours of speculation, Clark realized he needed a girl's opinion. "He tried to kiss me," he said quietly.

"Who? Wait… _he_? Oh! Jackson?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?"

"Oh, it was _so_ obvious."

"Not to me!"

"Yeah, I guess it wouldn't be. You're socially impaired when it comes to girls, and apparently guys."

"Hey, this isn't funny."

"You're right, I'm sorry," she said, suppressing a giggle. "So… what did you do?"

"What do you mean 'what did I do?' I didn't do anything. I freaked out!"

"Right, that makes sense. Okay, describe in great detail what happened. It's imperative to my advice giving that I know exactly how it went down."

"He tried to kiss me, I moved away and the elevator doors closed."

"That's it? You didn't say anything?"

"No! What was I supposed to say? I was shocked."

"Did Jackson say anything?"

"Um, he mumbled something about being sorry and stupid. He looked really sad."

"Hm, alright well, what happened before he went in for the kill?"

"Chloe," Clark said sternly.

"Sorry, sorry. What happened before he… well, you know."

"We just got back from Smallville. He took me to the farm for my Christmas gift." He could hear her suppress an 'awwwww' like noise, and continued before she actually said anything. "I know how nice it was and now that I think about it, there were signs, but I'm not into him like that, or guys at all."

"Okay. So what's the problem?"

"He's become a really good friend, Chloe. I don't want to hurt him and I don't want to lose his friendship. How am I supposed to… I don't know… turn him down?"

"I think you already did. I'm sure your reaction told him everything he needed to know."

"Great. He'll probably never talk to me again."

"Clark, it takes a lot of courage to express feelings like that, especially when it's a friend. Think about it, he's the one who got rejected, I bet he's thinking _you_ won't want to talk to him again."

"Of course I want to talk to him, he's still my friend. I just don't want things to be uncomfortable between us."

"Then don't let it. It might feel weird at first, but it doesn't have to stay that way. Just try to keep things as normal as possible."

"Yeah, I guess that could work." He hoped it worked. "Chloe?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I unintentionally led him on? I mean, I kind of suspected he was… you know."

"It's okay to say 'gay', Clark." She said succinctly.

"Yeah, I know. Well, I suspected he was gay and I think I might have even known he had a thing for me."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know, it was the way he looked at me sometimes. It reminded me of a look I've seen… someone… give me before." Someone meaning Chloe, but that was a whole other can of worms Clark didn't want to open.

"Right, well, just because you suspected, doesn't mean you did anything wrong. I'm sure you didn't lead him on. Trust me, Clark, you just being you is enough for someone to find appealing. Jackson just saw what everyone else does, that you're a great person and friend."

Clark blushed, "You're too good to me."

"I try," she said with a small laugh. "Alright, can we finish this girl-talk tomorrow? I'm exhausted."

"Sure, no problem. I'll call you later."

"Goodnight, Clark," she said, yawning. "And I'll yell at you tomorrow for coming all the way to Smallville and not visiting me."

"Looking forward to it. 'Night, Chlo."

 

\---

Clark hadn't spoken with Jackson since the 'elevator incident', as Chloe dubbed it. He thought about calling Jackson but didn't know what he should say, or if he should call at all. Was he supposed to let Jackson make the first move after something like that or was it his responsibility to break the ice? Clark still didn't know if Jackson even wanted to be around him after what happened. Clark reasoned that he and Chloe were able to keep their friendship after he found out she liked him, so it shouldn't be too hard for him and Jackson to remain friends. At least, he hoped so.

A few days later on Christmas Eve, Clark rode the packed Metro subway on his way to a party. A small boy across the car fidgeted in his tuxedo, making Clark glad he opted for the open collar look tonight. Clark still thought it was strange and completely unnecessary that he was required to dress in a formal suit for a simple Christmas party, but apparently that's how things were done in Metropolis. As Stacey put it when she invited him, "You better dress up, Clark! Don't think you can flash that ridiculous smile and get away with _jeans_ at _my_ party. If you show up wearing anything but a tuxedo, I'll throw you over the balcony."

She was such a sweet girl, he thought with a smile.

Stacey's party was held in the penthouse suite of one of Metropolis' luxury hotels. The type of hotel that when paid enough, overlooked the severely underage guests who were obviously only there to partake debauched activities.

Twenty stories up, in the _glass_ elevator no less, Clark began to feel queasy, and not the kind of queasy he associated with heights. No, it was the pit in his stomach, twist in his veins, heart pounding, beating pain behind his eyes kind of queasy. He closed his eyes, swallowing, and hoped beyond hope that he was only experiencing an allergic reaction to heights, not meteor rock.

He'd almost forgotten what it felt like; the way his skin crawled, almost as if his blood was literally boiling, and the horrible dread he felt as the pain overwhelmed him. Weeks before his parents died was the last time he'd been unlucky enough to stumble across them. Since moving to the city, it never occurred to him that he might cross paths with the mysterious rock again.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid silently open. Tim and Jackson stepped in, both wearing tuxedos. "Clark!" Tim exclaimed.

"Hey," Clark greeted nervously, trying not to look Jackson in the eye. "Why are you getting on at this floor?"

"We got a room for after the party," Tim said, smiling. "You're welcome to crash there, too, if you want."

"Oh, okay… um, maybe." Clark internally kicked himself for sounding so stupid and uncomfortable. He and Jackson still hadn't spoken and suddenly being trapped together in the elevator made him nervous.

Tim apparently noticed. "What's going on?" He asked, looking from Clark to Jackson.

"Nothing," they said simultaneously.

"Yeah, okay," said Tim, sarcastically. "Then we're playing the 'Avoid Eye Contact' game for fun?" Jackson remained quiet, looking out onto the skyline. Clark, feeling as though he might puke, the queasy feeling growing, just sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Seriously? Did I miss the fight where we all stopped being friends? What's going on?"

"It's nothing," Clark spoke up, his voice sounded strained. He leaned back against the glass, the elevator making him nauseous. "I'm not feeling very good. That's all." Trying to change the subject, he pointed to the brown paper bag Tim held, "What's in the bag?"

Tim didn't look convinced that nothing was wrong, but gave into Clark's diversion. He patted the bag, "Sustenance."

Jackson snorted in an obvious 'yeah, right!' way. He and Clark still avoided one another's eye, but luckily the elevator stopped before Tim could say anything else. The doors opened into the lobby of the penthouse and Jackson pushed past them without saying a word.

Clark and Tim walked together into the lobby and barely reached the living room when Stacey's shrill voice reverberated in his ears. "Clark Kent!! What did I say about your clothing?" she huffed.

"It's black." He sighed; his head was beginning to pound.

"It's a black _suit_ and you're not even wearing a tie!!!"

Tim, looking irritated, retorted, "What the hell does it matter?"

She looked at them, fuming, and pointed at Clark, "Keep it up, Kent, and you'll regret it. I'd watch your back when you're on the balcony." Giving Clark one last death glare, Stacey stormed off to speak with someone dressed to her standards.

Tim smiled, his irritation gone as quickly as it had come. "Okay, somehow you've managed to really piss her off."

"I got a higher score on our chemistry final than she did," said Clark.

Tim nodded, fully understanding. Stacey was their class' high achiever and newcomers who threatened her possibility of becoming Valedictorian didn't bode well with her; no matter that they had three and a half more years of school left.

"You should have seen what she stuffed in my locker after that," Clark continued, remembering the decapitated teddy bear wearing a nametag that read 'Clark Kent'. "She's vicious."

"Totally. Come on, I'll pour us something to drink." He patted his bag again and headed off to the bar.

Clark walked into the main room of the suite; it was nearly the same size as his apartment but decorated with a sophisticated modern flare. The bar in the corner was crowded with his classmates, all looking to fill their glasses with the finest liquors. The room was lit by small white lights, strung through several potted plants, an all-white Christmas tree, and wrapped around pillars that separated the living space from the entry. White paper lanterns were lit and hung low across the room and outside on the large balcony.

Clark saw Jackson at the opposite end of the room with his back to him, talking with Stew. Turning, he walked to the bar, deciding to enjoy himself and not fret about whether Jackson was mad at him. There wasn't anything he could do about the situation besides actually talking about it and that was something he didn't want to do right then. He didn't know what to say or ask or how to even approach Jackson. "Hey, how have you been since you tried to kiss me and I totally rejected you?" wasn't a very good icebreaker.

"Here, try this," said Tim, handing him a plastic cup.

"What is it?" Clark looked at it, the neon plastic making his eyes hurt. "Why is it glowing?"

"The black lights make it glow. It's just a shot, quit being so good all the time."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "There aren't any black lights in here."

"Sure there are." Tim said, looking around the room.

"If there were, our teeth would be glowing."

"Just shut up and drink it." Tim downed the shot and hissed. "Woo! That's good stuff!"

Clark shrugged and drank it quickly. It burned down his throat but not in the usual way liquor burned. He coughed, feeling as though he was choking. His hand started shaking and as he lifted it, he noticed the clear plastic wasn't glowing, or green. The liquid he just drank was.

He coughed again and gagged on nothing but air. The room began to tilt around him. A hand hit his back and he heard Tim say, "Burns doesn't it? That's the sign of good alcohol," but his voice sounded distant. Clark felt like his throat was closing up, his breaths sounded ragged and he could hear his heartbeat pounding fast.

"Are you okay?" Tim asked, stepping in front of Clark, his hand on his shoulder. Tim was blurry but Clark could see another glowing green drink clearly in his hand. Knowing what he'd just drank was laced with meteor rock froze Clark. He knew he needed to get away from it but couldn't force his body to move. He could almost feel the liquid coursing through his body and seeping into his bloodstream. A wild thought about such a tiny drink killing him entered his mind and his eyes went wide with fear.

"Clark, what's wrong?" Tim's hand tightened on his shoulder as he swayed. "Maybe you should sit down." Clark didn't respond but he could see the concern in Tim's normally cheerful expression.

They stood, Clark swaying with Tim trying to hold him steady, for what felt like an eternity before Tim forced Clark toward the couch to sit. He set his still glowing drink on the coffee table and sat next to Clark.

Snapping out of his trance as he sat down, Clark leaned forward and put his head in his hands. The room spun and his body shook from the poison now settling in his stomach.

"Clark!" Tim nearly shouted over the music to get his attention. "What's wrong?"

"I-I … I don't," Clark tried to gather his thoughts. His voice shook, "I'm f-fine."

"You don't look fine."

"What w-was that?"

"Meteor."

Clark's shock was evident in his voice, "What?!"

"Meteor," Tim said flatly again. "It's new. Lime flavored tequila. It's got a kick to it, doesn't it?"

Clark wanted to laugh and would have, but his stomach flip-flopped and the room spun again. Meteor rock tequila called _Meteor_! That's subtle, Clark thought bitterly. Who in their right mind would put a radioactive _rock_ in a drink and market it?

Jackson walked up and sat on the coffee table in front of them. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, noticing Clark's pallor.

"I-I'm fine," Clark lied, his voice still shaky, like the rest of his body. He sat back, trying to look as though he felt better, and said, "I think it went down the wrong pipe," but didn't sound terribly convincing.

"I do that all the time!" said Tim, apparently convinced enough. He stood, taking his drink from the table and said as he walked away, "Maybe you should lay off the hard stuff tonight, Clark."

"Trust me, I will." He felt dizzy but he could finally breathe properly and the room wasn't spinning quite as much as before. It was a relief to realize the drink would not actually kill him (quickly, at least) but he was still weak and worried about what after-effects could come from ingesting it.

Jackson sat in Tim's vacated seat and looked at him incredulously. "Down the wrong pipe, huh?"

"What? It happens."

"I guess."

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't know, Clark. You don't almost faint from swallowing wrong."

"I didn't almost faint."

"It looked like you were about to fall over, if it weren't for Tim."

"Were you watching?" Clark asked, a little irritated that Jackson was questioning him so much. The last thing he felt like doing right now was trying to cover what happened with lies. His chest burned and his hands were shaking.

"Yeah."

"Oh." A silence fell between them, both suddenly remembering that they had not spoken to each other since the elevator incident. Jackson turned a shade of pink after admitting he'd been watching Clark, and Clark, realizing why Jackson blushed, felt suddenly flushed himself.

After a few minutes, Jackson spoke. "I'm sorry."

"About what?" Clark asked reflexively before mentally kicking himself. What else would Jackson be apologizing for? His brain must be contaminated with meteor rock tequila.

Jackson took a deep breath, "About what happened. I shouldn't have tried to … I was out of line."

"No, it's all right … I mean, I'm not mad or anything."

"Oh, okay. That's good." They sat silently for a while until Jackson found the courage to say what was eating at him. "Alright, I'm just going to say this. Obviously, you know how I feel and I know how you feel, and I completely understand if you don't want to be friends anymore. So just say the word and I'll be out of your life for good."

Clark was a little shocked that Jackson would think he wanted to end their friendship. His reaction must have been worse than he thought. "I don't want that," he said quietly, the meteor rock effects left him feeling weak and he was starting to feel extremely tired.

"Oh … okay."

"I'm not saying I wasn't surprised, but you're still my best friend and I'm not about to throw that away because I… well, because you… you know."

Jackson breathed a sigh of relief, "Cool."

"Can I ask you a weird question? It's really stupid but it's been bugging me."

"Shoot."

"Did I lead you on?"

Jackson laughed, which Clark chose to take as a good sign. "No, not at all. You gave me no indication that you were interested, or even gay." He paused, "I've been thinking a lot about why I did that and I think I decided to go for it then because you looked happy."

"Because I was _happy_?"

"Well, it was the first time I've seen you look really happy since we met. Genuinely happy."

His revelation hit Clark hard. Was that day really the first time he'd been happy since moving to the city? He thought he had adjusted well over the last several months, but if his friends were noticing it wasn't real happiness, maybe it wasn't.

Being back in Smallville had brought up so many happy memories; he felt content and at home, something he rarely felt in Metropolis. He looked down at his shaking hands. The contrast of his pale skin against his expensive black pants stirred something in him. At home, in Smallville, everything was warm and comfortable. Jeans and flannel suited him; they were a part of who he was; casual, soft, approachable. Whereas in Metropolis, things were harsh, cold, selfish, all the things he wasn't by nature. Smallville flowed and connected. Metropolis divided and conquered.

Was he changing into the typical Metropolitan city slicker? He couldn't even remember the last time he wore a plaid flannel shirt.

"I'm not happy?" he whispered in a questioning tone, suddenly very tired.

\\\

To be continued


End file.
